


Burnt Sugar(!)(!)(!)

by Rag



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Affection, Aphrodisiacs, Drug Use, Hangover, M/M, Masturbation, Psychological Horror, Tricksters, mild dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:17:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rag/pseuds/Rag
Summary: Karkat accidentally takes trickster candy, and Dave babysits his high.





	Burnt Sugar(!)(!)(!)

**Author's Note:**

> the mild dubcon thing is that karkat gets kinda pushy about sex, because trickster, but he backs off before shit gets really bad  
> click to the bottom if you want further explanation/warnings

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you have _never!_ felt better in your _entire! fucking! LIFE._

 _Oh, fuck, please tell me you didn’t actually eat that,_ Dave said. Why wouldn’t you eat it? It was just _sitting_ there, right there, on the _table_ , okay not the main dinner table, but the hallway all the way at the far end of the house, the one that Callie and Roxy don’t usually show to guests, but the primary bathroom was out of order and you got lost on your way to find the other one. Really, why did they have so many bathrooms? Why did they have so many bedrooms? What could they possibly do with all this space? Why? Decadence? You can get behind that. They’re gods now! They get a BIG house with not one but _three_ whole bathrooms, the fucking lunatics. Anyways! Anyway anyways, there it was, right there in the hallway, all trussed up in the most stunning glass bowl you’ve _ever_ seen, mindfuckingly _insane_ levels of intricacy, how could they possibly fit so many beautiful swirls on a single curved sheet of glass? And they were just sitting there, and good fucking golly those wrappers were _shiny_ and you’ve always had a little bit of a weak spot when it came to green and red, really, are there any colors that go together as well as green and red? You don’t think so, absolutely not.

And you were all, _Why the fuck wouldn’t I eat it, what the fuck, is there something wrong with it?_ Because you’re always just _so_ fucking grumpy, like someone took a shit in your cereal, like someone pissed in your shoes, like a flock of wingbeasts shat directly onto your head, you take everything so seriously all the time and it’s really just ridiculous to think about. You’re ridiculous!

_Where the hell did you find that?_

_The bowl in the hallway,_ you told him.

_Yo Rox, can you ask your girl why the fuck the Satan candies are sitting in the fucking hallway?_

_What? Oh, nooooo! Callie!_

_Oh no! Oh no, Karkat! Oh, no! Roxy, Dave, I- I was cleaning the- uh, that one room, Roxy, you know which one- I didn’t think anyone would go there! Roxy- I didn’t want to forget where I put them, so I just- and I thought he already knew what they were- I just- agh! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Oh my god! Karkat, are you okay? How are you feeling? Oh, no, you didn’t chew it, did you?!_

And you started to get scared! Because they were scared! About you and the candy! But then you started feeling all ~s _o_ ft~ and ~w _a_ rm~ and so fucking _good_. It’s like your nasty mutant blood was turning to liquid gold and burning you up from the inside, not like Sollux gold but literal fucking metallic aurum - no, no, not gold, chocolate, but actual edible chocolate, velvety and smooth and luscious, boiling inside of you, your blood was boiling but it felt _wonderful_. You’ve heard that it tastes like eggs, boiled blood, cooked blood, blood soup, but you could bet yours would be would be like candy, candy, candy red, sweet as sugar.

_Why do you even have them, dude. Like. Why the hell is there a stash of this shit in a candy bowl right now. What the fuck do you get up to._

_Listen, Daveycakes, you don’t wanna know._

_Yeah, Dave, I don’t mean to be rude, especially given the circumstances, but that’s really not your business!_

_Oh, gross. Could you have maybe possibly said anything else, maybe, possibly, literally anything but that? Literally anything._

_Wha- shut up! I didn’t say a fuckin thing! You’re the one who’s all, Rox, why are there sex candies in the hallway? This is totally a super cool and smart question to ask my sister!_

_Oh, that’s it, that’s the TMI threshold, right there, you found it. Maybe a few steps back, actually? But, in this general vicinity, definitely._

And you tried to get another as they bantered their nonsense words, because the taste was sticking to the roof of your mouth and you dragged your tongue over it, you still think you can taste it now when you breathe out, pasty and sharp and metallic and just ambrosial. And Callie was all, _wait wait wait wait wait no Karkat come back! Don’t do that!_ And Dave was all, _oh no your don’t Mr. Karkat, because I’m apparently your fucking dad now and I’m the arbiter of whether or not you can eat a fucking candy of your own volition and I’m deciding the answer is no! Also you’re grounded!_ But it’s fine, you’re not mad about that, you kind of feel like you can’t be mad even if you wanted to? You’ve lost the ability to be mad. You love this. This is amazing.

“You doing okay there, dude?”

Dave is taking you somewhere. You’re flying. He scooped you up pretty fast when the you started noticing how nice his clothes fit him. They fit him perfectly. In every way. They’re just right for him. He has such good taste. He’s wearing a bright candy apple hoodie with white accents, and skinny black jeans and hug his ass just right, and his sneakers are just the perfect mix of form and fashion and of course they complement the whole outfit perfectly with their cotton candy pink streaks nestled softly in a bed of licorice.

“I love flying with you.”

“Oh, uh, cool. Same. How are you feeling?”

It’s hard to breathe, which you think should scare you, but you don’t understand why. It’s all fine! Everything is fine. Better than fine. It’s hard, but it’s not impossible, you’re getting plenty of air, enough to sustain life.

You look up at him. How could you ever have looked at anything else? He’s so fucking beautiful. He’s backlit against the earth’s moon and his soft human skin and perfect frizzy hair, usually the color of wheat but now it’s shining soft marshmallow against the snow-cap stars.

He’s a god. You’re dating a god? You’re fucking a god. And not just any god, like that wasn’t enough on its own? But the absolute best, most gorgeous god of them all? And he _loves_ you. He actually loves _you,_ a useless freak like _you_! He doesn’t just tolerate you! He doesn’t just fuck you! He _LOVES_ you! He’s unbelievable.

“Dude?”

“You’re perfect. You’re so perfect.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“You’re beautiful, Dave. I don’t tell you enough. You’re so-” You can’t think of the words to do him justice. So many fucking words, millions of words, and you can’t think of these? What’s wrong with you?! “Fuck, fuck-“

“What’s wrong?”

He sounds so worried. He doesn’t need to be worried. “Shh. Shhh.” You stroke his arm. “I love you.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m perfect, Dave. Everything is perfect with you.”

“O….kay… We’re almost there, alright?”

“Okay.” You think you’re going home, but you don’t know for sure. But you trust him. You trust him so much. You never thought you’d be able to trust someone so much in your life. Even if you managed to get close to someone, which was a bad idea, you thought you’d never be able to kiss them or have sex with them because then they’d see what you really were and they’d cull you for being an affront to the system and nature itself. But Dave fixed that! He fixed everything!

You think you’re going a little faster now? It feels faster. Flying with him is like the safest rollercoaster. He’ll never let you go. He watched that movie with you, and hugged you when you started crying, and talked with you about it because you just were so sad that they could never be together, they could never even be their own people, because the system designed them just to be walking sacks of organs and  they thought they should be happy with the sick parody of kindness they were given in that they were allowed just a taste of a normal life while they’re waiting to be killed, and he made _art_ and he was so sure that would matter and it _didn’t_ , it didn’t matter, and Dave _hugged_ you and told you that yeah, man, that was a huge bummer, they’re totally people and unique and shit and the world just doesn’t see it that way and that sucks. He _understood!_ He understood. The two of you agree about almost everything. You’re perfect for each other.

And then you’re there, before you even know it.

“God, Dave, you’re so good at that.”

“Yep, just the fucking best. So. Fuck. Fuck, I never told you about this shit, did I?”

“What shit?” He seems so anxious! Fucking ridiculous. There’s _nothing_ to be anxious about. You’re always _so_ anxious about the silliest things. Like, oh, no, if it rains too hard my feet will get wet and then I’ll be wearing wet socks all day! Oh no, did I remember to lock the door? Oh, no, Dave might leave me someday - you don’t like thinking about that one even now, so you just drop it! You can _do_ that now, just decide to stop thinking about it and then it’s gone! Poof. Like it was never there.

“The candy shit.”

“Oh, Dave, it was so _good_.”

“Uh-huh. So, you’re going to be out of commission all night, okay? Karkat? Are you listening to me?”

Of course you are. Staring at his mouth as they form every beautiful word he speaks. “Every word. Always.” You reach out and tenderly stroke his soft, soft, soft alien lips.

His perfect lips purse. He stares at you and the corners of his mouth tip… down? “Hah, this is gonna suck,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“Movies? Here. I’ll put in that shitty one you like about Will Smith’s spleen.”

“You’re so fucking thoughtful, oh my god.” Yes. Anything. Anything he wants from you. You’d do anything for him. And he does things like this, for _you_ , just for you, because he wants to make you happy? He’s so good.

“Yep, that’s me. Thoughtful as all hell. Let you walk right past the fucking candied ecstasy without explaining what it was. The fucking prince of forethought.”

“Dave, that candy was _so good_.”

“I’m sure it was. Come on, let’s go.” He takes your hand and tries to pull you over to the couch, but you’ve been staring at his lips for so long and you want nothing more than to kiss them. You try to lean forward but he stops you. “Brush your teeth.”

“What?”

“Go brush your teeth. Please.”

“That’s so rude! Dave! Is my breath _that_ bad? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I can brush. I can wash. I can eat different food. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Oh, boy. Okay, then brush your teeth, because I don’t want to get a contact high from kissing you.”

“Oh! Okay. Okay, sure. Of course!” That makes so much fucking sense, what the fuck were you thinking questioning him? Of course he has good reasons! You cannot begin to understand why he doesn’t want to feel like this, up up up up up up and you just keep going up, but that’s his choice.

You do a very, very! thorough job with your teeth. They’ve never been cleaner. And then you make sure to brush your tongue and grab the mouthwash. Only then do you see your reflection. How did you miss _that?!_ You jump back, and then laugh. You look _amazing_. Your eyes are so big and bright and your hair is candy green, red and green red and green looks _so_ good together and now it’s on you. And there’s a lollipop stuck to your hair, swirling lime and cherry red, that doesn’t come off no matter how hard you tug. But you don’t really want it off, so it’s fine! It looks so _good_. Your skin, you’re not wild about it, actually, you were perfectly happy with the grey and it’s weird to see it change, you didn’t know that was possible? But it’s fine too! It’s fine. Oh, mouthwash! So you can kiss Dave. Yes. Yes, god. You can’t wait to kiss him. You want to taste his tongue. You want it to be all you taste for the rest of your life. You want to taste his skin. You want to lick the salt off his neck. But first you need to wash out your mouth!

When you come back to the living room, Dave is texting furiously. Three glasses of water are sitting on the table. He looks up at you.

“Woah.”

“Don’t I look great? I love it. Why is this happening?”

“It’s just... something that happens.”

That’s a good enough explanation for you. You sit on the couch and snuggle up close to him. He’s so warm, soft, good. “Let’s kiss.”

“Drink this.” He pushes the water next to you.

“I wanna kiss you, Dave. I want it so bad.”

“Drink this first.”

You sigh. Fine! Whatever. You gulp it down. And then slam the cup down on the table. Oops! Dave flinches. Oh no! Because he got beaten up a lot as a wriggler, see, he really doesn’t like sudden noises or shows of force, even accidents. That was stupid! You’re horrible!

“Oh no! No! No! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! It’s okay, I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he says tightly.

“Dave, I love you. It’s okay.”

He looks so worried. You kiss him. He feels worried. You kiss him harder. He’s taking so long to get into it. What gives? You just- _fuck_ , he feels so good. He tastes like candy. Sweeter than the candy you’re craving so bad. It makes you burn. He opens his mouth and you kiss him deeply, maybe a little too fast? No, he didn’t like that, nope, too fast. Ooops. You slow down. You love him. You want him so bad. You’re already unsheathed, and you’ve barely even touched him, and _god_ if it feels this good already you can’t even IMAGINE what-

He pushes you away and you notice that his posture is super stiff? Not in the sexy way, not his dick, that’s actually totally soft as far as you can tell :(

“Okay, actually, I can’t do this. Go on, get off.” He gently scoots you off his lap.

“What’s wrong, Dave?”

“Can we just watch the movie?”

“Is something wrong? Did I do something?”

“Nope. Just not in the mood.” He clicks play and the opening credits start.

“…Can I get you in the mood?” You waggle your eyebrows. That’s something he usually does, to make you laugh or groan. It’s silly, and dumb, and you probably look really fucking stupid doing it, but for once in your life? You don’t care! _Fuck_ , you’re in heaven, this is _amazing_ , you don’t know how you _live_ giving _so_ much of a shit about _everything_ all the fucking time. You really need to relax more. And, anyways, it extra double triple doesn’t matter because that’s how you’re communicating to Dave, without words, that you’ll lay back and let him fuck your face until he comes down your throat. Or on your face? Maybe your chest. You don’t care where he comes. You just want him to use you until he does.

He looks at you. “I really, really doubt it, dude.”

He’s not getting the message. How could he not! Well, you can fix that. “Come on, I have some tricks.” You lick your lips.

“Dude. No. Let’s just watch this movie.” He clicks play and it starts. You stare at him longingly. “Karkat, babe, watch the movie for me?”

You try. You make a valiant effort to steer your eyes in the direction of the screen and look at the moving images on it. But it’s so _boring_ when Dave is right here. He could be fucking you _right now_. Your nook aches for the stiff, immobile length of him. You need him more than you need to breathe, and you need to be one with him, joined at the nook. Or ass, if that’s what he wants! That feels really good too. It’s all you want. It’d feel so good in you.

Dave rubs his temples.

“Are you okay right now?”

“No!” you say cheerily.

“Didn’t think so.”

“I want you.” He doesn’t respond. That’s a cue to continue if you’ve ever heard one! “Think about it. If we have sex right now, _everything_ would be perfect. No, more perfect! It’s already perfect, Dave, everything is perfect with you, but- can you imagine? Can you? Can you? Even more perfect than _this_?”

“Boy, can I.”

A joke! God, he’s perfect. “You’re so funny, too. I don’t tell you enough. You’re so clever. I love you so much, Dave.”

“Babe, I love you too, okay? And we’ll talk about this tomorrow. For now, we’re just gonna watch Seven Pounds. Try to stop talking, if you can? Look, isn’t this your favorite scene?”

You look at the screen, but how could you possibly focus on something that isn’t Dave? You hang on his words. They drip out of his perfect mouth and into your stupid ears and start to percolate and it’s all you want to think about.

You don’t know what merits talking about tomorrow instead of now, but he knows better than you. He usually does, in general- usually? No, always. What do you know? You don’t know anything! Except how much you love him, which is bigger than the universe itself. And you know that everything would be so fucking _perfect_ if you made your love manifest right now with some roses and some candles and soft music and silk sheets that he’d fuck you in, slow and deep, in missionary, kissing and holding each other, until you both come, at the same time, because you’re _that_ intimately linked _,_ in your fucking _SOULS,_ and you’ll feel his liquid ecstasy dripping out between your legs and know that _you_ did that to him, _you_ made him feel like that, _you_ made him - for one shining moment - forget _EVERYTHING_ else in the entire fucking universe except how _good_ you make him feel because you love him _so, fucking, much_ , and he loves you - and you’ve wanted that for so long but you’ve never told him, why?

“Dave, I have to tell you something.”

He sighs. He looks- why does he look like that? You’re opening up to him! This is what lovers do. That’s what you are, lovers.

“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you sooner. We’re lovers, we should share things.” You feel yourself start to float up a little - oh, woah, you can _do_ that now! “Dave.”

He looks up at you, eyebrows drawn up and frowning. “Yes, Karkat?”

Something stops you for a second? And you’re floating back down on the couch, deflating like a sad mutant balloon. But then it’s gone. Good! The ache between your legs feels like it’s going to literally kill you, you have to tell him.

“I want you to make love to me.”

He sighs uncomfortably. Or, encouragingly? Probably the latter.

“Right now? While Will Smith plans the most elaborate suicide ever put to film?”

Why is he talking about the _movie_? Fuck the movie! Fuck Will Smith! No, you take that back! But, fuck the movie! “Listen. Listen to me. I have to tell you. I’ve wanted it for so long, Dave. I need you to- to hold me and- and- with roses, right? With roses and- and candles- fuck.” You slide a hand down your pants and stroke your bulge, it’s so swollen with genetic fluid that it fucking hurts, it’s so ready for Dave’s hands or mouth or nook, or his cock in _your_ nook, in _your_ mouth- “ _Fuck_ , I’m so- wet, I’m-“

“Woah holy _shit_ , let’s just.” He grabs your wrist. You gasp. And then he pulls… your hand out of your pants??? Why????? You gape at him. “Listen-”

“Why did you stop me? That’s so rude, Dave! Oh, fuck, are you being kinky? Fuck, tie me-”

“No. Karkat. If you want to jack off, leave the room.”

That’s so _mean_. You can’t understand why he’s being _such_ a fucking Debbie downer about all of this. But you respect his wishes, because you love him (is that the only reason?), and because there’s some little part of your brain that’s kind of like, _hey earth to Karkat, this is SUPREMELY fucked up and unacceptable what the FUCK are you doing,_ juuuuust a little bit? So you wipe your hand off on your sweats and try not to think about all the different ways the two of you could be fucking _right now._ There’s so many different ways- no! You’re supposed to not think about this!

“We can talk about all of this tomorrow, okay? Okay? And if this is something you’re into tomorrow, we can think about it then.”

“Why? What? What good is tomorrow? The world might _end_ tomorrow! We need to live for today!”

“Karkat.” His voice gets really serious. “Look at me.” You look at him. He seems angry, oh no! Oh no, fuck! What did you do! “I _do not_ want to have sex right now. Stop asking, stop arguing, or I’m going to leave the room.”

You

?

After forever days weeks months years time some form of time, you can think again. “Why?”

“What,” he sighs.

He’s so ? upset with you?

Water is coming out of your eyes? (he doesn’t love you? he doesn’t think you’re attractive? you aren’t attractive, he’s right, and now he’s finally seeing it for the first time, and it’s all over forever because you’re heinous)

“Why not?”

“Because you’re high as a fucking spaceship, dude. It’s messed up. You’re freaking me the fuck out.”

Some part of that makes sense? Somehow? You can’t put it into words. But it makes sense.

Of course it does, it’s coming from Dave. Who isn’t mad at you! It’s okay. He’s not mad at you. You just misunderstood his tone! He loves you. He _loves_ you.

“God, this shit is so fucking scary. I don’t know what the fuck Roxy likes about it.”

“You should have had some, too. Then you’d understand. It’s incredible, Dave. It’s amazing. I’ve never felt better.” You get the best idea you’ve ever had. “Dave. Dave, we have to go back and get some for you.”

“No.”

“Why!”

“Again, we can talk tomorrow.”

“But why? I can understand you _now_ , Dave! Tell me!”

Why does he look so sad? It’s bumming you out even _more!_

“Because you didn’t _want_ to get like this. It was an accident. And it’s so fucking weird having to spell this shit out for you, you’d normally know without asking. You’re, like … I don’t fucking know. Like you’re on drugs, ha ha, because that’s what you are. You’re doped up to hell. And now I’m just here, babysitting you so you drink enough water and don’t fuck a cactus or something, because _apparently_ the first time is the worst for this shit, _apparently_ , and I wouldn’t know because I’m not super fucking up to snuff on fucking alien sex candy but _apparently_ my fucking sistermom _is_ and that’s so much more than I wanted to know about her ever, you know?”

You try to comprehend that. You do try. You listen to every word. But around halfway through all you can think about is how smooth his voice is. You said you could understand but maybe you were lying, oops. His voice is like rich fondue pouring from a glimmering fount. His voice is like whipped cream on a crepe.

“And now you’re just staring at me vacantly and it’s just the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to me. They think that giving me all this fuckin’ advice is gonna make up for this shit? Nope, not even close. Gonna require at least seven batches of Jane cupcakes, and it’s gonna be their job to pay for them with cold hard boonbucks. At _least_ , dude. I’m calling chocolate cinnamon and orange vanilla. You pick some flavors, too. This shit can’t be fun for you, either. Flavors? Yo? Dude? No? Okay. Let’s brainstorm our list of demands to make up for their heinous act of negligence. Like, legit, that was incredibly fucked up and really fucking not cool but I know it was an accident, right, and also like, what the fuck were you doing in the unused spare hallway, it’s like, shit happens, right, people make mistakes. But, anyways, flavors? Hello? Yo, Karkat, any input?”

“I love your voice.”

“Yep, okay, saw that one coming. You know, this shit would probably be neat if the two of us were both on it at the same time, right, but like-“ Your ears perk up at that, and he notices. “No, not taking any tonight, okay, just, stop, shh, don’t.” He puts his finger to your lips. It takes a colossal amount of self restraint to not suck them into your mouth, but you don’t. “Shh.”

You pout. Fine.

“Anyways, right, like, that could be neat, right, okay, but like, the one-person babysitting shit? Not the best. One-person babysitting someone who might regret literally everything he does? Worse. The worst? Yeah, the worst. Anyways. Let’s watch this dumbass movie because it’ll make time pass quicker. Look, the fuckin, jellyfish.”

“I don’t want to watch the movie.” Honesty! You’re so much better at it now that you’re like this. You should eat this candy every day.

“Okay.” He stops it. “What do you want to do? Other than sex.”

What _do_ you want to do? Other than sex. Hmmmm.

“Just be close to you.”

“That can be arranged. But I kind of want to kill some time, too.”

“Fast forward it! You can _do_ that!”

“Oh, shit dude, good idea. Okay, yeah- mm, no.”

“What?”

“It’s weird-ass cherub shit, I dunno how it’s gonna interact with time stuff.”

“Oh. Okay. It was a good idea, though, right?” Dave’s approval is all you want right now.

“Yeah, dude, for sure. Good thinking.” He sighs. He sounds exhausted. He rubs your shoulder, gentle touches. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? You’ve got another hour or two until the worst of it wears off.”

“No. You’re all that I need.”

“Dude. Okay. We’re gonna play video games, okay?”

“Okay. That sounds great. Anything you want, Dave. And nothing that you don’t want. I love you.”

*

It starts to wear off eventually. The game gets less impossible to focus on, and you get too tired to sit up. You ask Dave if you can cuddle each other to sleep. He says, of course - of course! he says of course! He loves you so much. He’s too good for you. You tell him this. He tells you he loves you, go to sleep. So you do.

*

You wake up with possibly the worst migraine you’ve ever had, and your arms wrapped tightly around Dave’s torso. You feel sticky and everything smells awful. The sunlight is far too fucking bright. It has absolutely no right. You groan, and Dave shifts.

“Hey, how you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Bad.”

“I’m sorry, dude, this shit has some wicked hangovers. It’s worse if you don’t drink.”

“How the fuck could anything be worse. This is the worst. Saying it could be worse is like adding one to infinity. It’s fucking nothing.”

Dave gently scoots lower so that he can hug you really tight. “Oh my god, babe, I missed you.”

And you start to remember the shit you said. And did.

“Oh my god,” you groan.

“You okay?”

“I fucked up so fucking bad.”

“Dude, no, don’t worry about it. You were on, like, double the normal dose of some whack-ass shit you didn’t even mean to take. And, like, you totally backed off when I told you to? I was kind of expecting to have to actually leave on you, but nope, even as a fucking double-dosed trickster you’re cool as hell.”

“…That was double the dose?”

“Yeah. It’s weird shit but like, you chewed it instead of sucking it and that fucks up the delivery mechanism, and there’s no way you’re gonna get a whole lot of this explanation with the hangover you probably have.”

You try to groan. It sounds more like a whimper. You’re so fucking disgustingly pathetic but _everything_ hurts _so fucking much_ and he’s your matespirit and you don’t care right now.

“Babe, can I help? Get you some water? Give you a massage?”

You nod, barely, because moving your head too much hurts.

“All of the above?”

“Yes.”

You sit up just enough to drink the water, and then he gets behind you and starts massaging your head with his hands, and everything feels a little less fucking awful. (And it’s really, really good to know he’s not holding any of that stuff against you. You were such a fucking idiot. You were such a fucking asshole. You want to crawl into a fucking pit and never emerge. Thank god he kept telling you to stop talking. Fuck, that could have been so much worse.)

“You up for talking about some stuff?” he asks softly.

Oh, there’s the nerves, back at it again. Like they’re making up for lost time. “Sure.”

“So, like … you said you wanted roses and candles and shit? And you wanted to tell me that for a while?”

You. Want to die. That is the most mortifying shit. No, how can you pick just one thing? Every single word that left your mouth last night was the most mortifying thing you’ve ever said.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I mean, was that real? Or just trickster shit? Because I can do that.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think you’d actually want it in real life, you know? But I’m so down.”

That’s possibly the best-case scenario to come out of that particular bucket of word vomit, of all possible scenarios. Maybe one single good thing can come out of this fucking steaming, wet, brackish turd of an experience. “Oh. Okay. Yeah, that’d be fine.”

He laughs softly. “Consider it done, babe. I’m gonna romance you so sweetly you won’t know what fuckin hit you.”

It takes you forever to respond because his fingertips feel amazing on your scalp, and because you’re embarrassed as fuck. “Cool. And, uh. Thanks for taking care of me so much.”

“Of course, babe.”

“No, really. You did so fucking much last night. You put up with so much horseshit.”

He laughs, sharper than before. “Yeah, kinda. God.”

“I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Dude, you didn’t mean to take it. Don’t worry about it. And, like, not to be weird, but I wanted to be there for you.”

If your head didn’t hurt so fucking much, you’d turn around and kiss him. Instead, you just fall back into him a little more. You’ll make it up to him later, when you can function again. Maybe make him a batch of cupcakes, Jane’s recipe. Or actually help him brainstorm your terms of forgiveness for Roxy and Callie. They’re going to be steeper than the drop off the edge of the universe.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, babe. No problem.”

“I love you.”

“You too, dude.”

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: karkat asks for sex a few times after dave tries to guide the conversation towards no, then brings it up again after dave says no, but drops it after dave makes it crystal clear that he means no and wants to drop it for the night completely


End file.
